


The Death and Rebirth of Baldur

by Buffintruda



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Retelling of a Norse myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffintruda/pseuds/Buffintruda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How a certain Norse Myth might have happened in the Supernatural universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death and Rebirth of Baldur

 

_Odin! Dost Thou Remember_  
 _when we in early days_  
 _Blended our blood together?_  
 _When to taste beer_  
 _Thou did'st constantly refuse_  
 _Unless to both 'twas offered?_  
-Sæmund's Edda, Thorpe's translation

 

...

Baldur was beautiful and kind. He was exactly the type of god that everybody couldn’t help but love. And everyone _did_ adore him. Gods from every pantheon in existence would talk about his perfectness. He even had a fan club, a group of obsessive young gods and goddesses with nothing better to do than to gossip about his hair and moan in jealousy over his wife. It didn’t matter that he had very little fighting skills to speak of, even the most bloodthirsty of war gods were not immune to his charms. Recently all the talk between gods seemed to have devolved to _Baldur this_ and _Baldur that_.  
Gabriel, currently disguised as the trickster god Loki, personally thought that Baldur was a snobbish upstart who needed to be reminded of his flaws and be brought down a notch or two. Part of that hostility towards the god of light was not Baldur’s fault at all, but instead, his father’s. Ever since Odin, with the help of all the other gods, had chained up his son, Fenris the wolf, Gabriel had been harboring a bit of a grudge towards the Æsir. Tensions had been building up for a while and that had been the breaking point. But really, if you knew that someone was destined to eat you, what would you do? Do everything in your power to make sure that he wouldn’t _want_ to do that. Befriend him, give him gifts and money. _Not_ chain him up with an “unbreakable” chain so that when he inevitably broke out, the first thing he would want to do was take revenge on those who imprisoned him for millennium. Sometimes those Norse gods were really thick-headed.   
Odin and Gabriel had once been the best of friends, blood-brothers even. But that didn’t matter right now. Gabriel was furious after what Odin did to his kids. He had chained up Fenris, confined Hel to the cold, dark realm of Niflheim, exiled Jörmungandr the enormous serpent to the oceans of Midgard and used Sleipnir the eight-legged horse as his steed. So, if Gabriel wanted payback for his kids, he definitely had the right. And with those thoughts, the Trickster began planning for what would grow to become his biggest prank since he tricked Thor into a wrestling match against Old Age.

...

It started out with nightmares. Every night, Baldur would dream of death. He would drown, get sick, be killed in battle, burn; each time he would die a different way. After a few weeks, his troubled nights began to take their toll. It was his mother, Frigga, who noticed first.   
“Baldur, is something troubling you?” She asked him one day. Baldur immediately began claiming that he was fine, but the Queen of Asgard raised her hand and he fell silent. “I have noticed your weariness, the glimpses of fear that show in your eyes when you think no one is looking. Do not lie to me, son. I am not blind.”  
“I have dreams, mother,” Baldur hesitantly confessed. “Every night I dream that I have died. I walk down the steps to the frozen world of Niflheim. I fear that these are not dreams, but visions of my future.”  
Frigga grasped his shoulders and stared at him straight in the eyes. “Whether these are visions or simply nightmares, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm.”   
From where he was eavesdropping, Loki smirked. Step one was complete; he had succeeded in reminding Baldur of his mortality.

...

At this point in time, the Norse gods were very vulnerable compared to other gods. Really, the only things that separated them from mortals was their ability to do magic, their marginally greater strength and their eternal youth (as long as nothing killed them), and even that only came from Idunn’s golden apples. Almost anything that could harm humans harmed them. This meant that there were quite a lot of things that could kill Baldur.  
Frigga, with the help of a witch, systematically went through everything and blessed Baldur so he would never be hurt by any of it. He could no longer be harmed by metal, fire, water, disease, stone, animals, poison, people and many other things. There was only one thing the Queen missed, a plant so weak and harmless that she didn’t bother wasting time on it. Frigga soon forgot all about it. The witch did not.  
Gabriel, in the guise of an ugly, old woman came to visit her. The witch welcomed him in, (because other than Frigga, no one had visited her for _weeks_ , and she was lonely) and offered him some tea and soon they were in the midst of a conversation.  
“Magic? That’s all pretty impressive, isn’t it? I saw a wizard turn a whole city into dust once with only a few words,” Gabriel said, as the discussion turned towards magic.  
The witch snorted angrily. “Wizards! That’s all anyone talks about, wizards! Cheap magic, that’s what they do! All flashy on the outside, but it‘s not practical. _Real_ power comes from witches. Only, most people don’t notice ‘em ‘cause most of ‘em are female. That’s sexist, that is!”  
Neither of them knew that over a thousand years later, wizardry would die out, to be replaced by witchcraft. This was because she was right and witchcraft was more useful and subtle than wizardry which, ironically, lead to them being the only ones to survive the witch hunts.  
“You seem opinionated on this,” Gabriel said, raising his eyebrows slightly.  
“Well...” she hesitated before deciding (incorrectly) that the crone in front of her was harmless and trustworthy. She continued heatedly, “I s’pose that’s ‘cause I am one. They always underestimate us, it’s really unfair! Like, for the past month, I’ve been help’n out a _goddess!_ And not just any old one, but a _Queen!_ How many wizards can claim that?!”  
“Really? What could a Queen Goddess need from a witch?” Gabriel asked, intrigued.  
“Protection. I made her son invincible to ev’rything,” she exclaimed proudly.  
“That’s impressive. It must have taken a lot of power to do that, but really? _Everything_?” He questioned skeptically, “Surely you must of missed _something_.”  
“I di’n't miss anything!” She cried indignantly. The witch calmed back down. “ _She_ did, though. I just did the magic, it was her who was sayin’ what to do. It’s not practical goin’ through ev’ry single thing in the entire world. Should’ve just done it all at once. But I’m not stupid enough t’ correct a _goddess_.”  
“You do seem pretty clever and practical. Gods just like to be dramatic and grandiose, even if there are simpler ways of doing things. You wouldn’t happen to know what she missed?”  
“Mistletoe. Maybe she just di’n’t think it was worth it. There’s not much harm mistletoe can do to a person. Still, I’d have been on the safe side.”  
With that information discovered, Gabriel left the witch and returned to Asgard. He hadn’t been there since Fenris was chained up; however, he was unsurprised to find that nothing had changed since then. The one thing that stood out to him was the lack of people. The dining hall, where he stood in, was normally constantly filled with people, yet no one was to be seen. He looked around curiously, wondering where the Æsir had gotten off to.   
The sound of laughter floated up from Gladsheim, one of the great halls. Frowning, the Trickster snapped his fingers and teleported there, startling a few gods.  
The place was packed. And everyone’s attention seemed to be on something that was going on at the other end of the hall. Gabriel couldn’t tell what it was because it was obscured by hundreds of people. At the end he was at, there were lots of table full of food and alcohol, where the deities were laughing and getting drunk.  
“Having a party without me?” he asked mock indignantly, snatching a sugary dessert from a nearby table.  
Sif, Thor’s blond wife turned around to look at him. “We were not certain if you wanted to come back after what Odin did to your children,” she said, her voice as soft and sweet as always.  
Gabriel’s face darkened. “I’m not very happy with him right now, but I have nothing against Asgard.” His expression melted away to something more mischievous and cheerful. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”  
“It’s Baldur,” Sif started. Gabriel rolled his eyes. It was _always_ about Baldur. “Queen Frigga has gone around the nine realms asking everything in existence to promise not to harm Baldur.” The Trickster wondered how _that_ rumour started. “The gods are testing it out. They are throwing every known weapon at him. Not a single one has left a mark. They have turned it into a game.” The goddess’ blue eyes were shining in admiration as she turned back towards the front to try and get a glimpse of Baldur.  
Gabriel wandered away, careful to avoid his wife, Sigyn. He did not want to get into another argument about why he’d been away so long.   
“ _Of course_ they would do something like that,” he muttered to himself. One would think that entertainment could be found in something other than attempting to kill the most popular god ever. What if someone actually succeeded? Gabriel couldn’t help but marvel at the stupidity and sheer savagery of the Æsir. This was why they needed him; without a trickster to keep them on their toes, they would all grow slow and inept, forever fighting the endless battles against the Jötuns, the giant enemies of Asgard. Despite the idiocy of their game, this did provide a perfect opportunity for him to complete his trick.

...

In the far corner of the hall, Hodur stood apart from everybody else. He was blind and so he couldn’t participate in the games like the rest. He wasn’t normally jealous of his brother. Many others in his positions would be. Baldur had everything Hodur did not: he had perfectly functioning eyes, he was well liked, he was strong, he was handsome, the list could go on. But Hodur loved his brother and he didn’t mind all that much. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself; at times like this it was harder to remember that. He was glad that his brother was safe, glad that Baldur’s nightmares had finally stopped last night (Frigga was not the only one who found out about them), but he just wished that he could join in the fun sometimes.  
Hodur could hear the laughter of the others as each weapon failed to leave a mark on Baldur’s skin. He could smell the scents of the foods and drinks as the gods partied. He could feel the warmth and excitement of all the gods crowded into one end of the hall. But he could not see any of it. Once again, his blindness set him apart. Normally his brother would do everything in his power to keep Hodur entertained; he would tell jokes and funny stories, introduce him to foreign gods, and do everything he could to keep him from being left out. Tonight, Baldur was the center of attention, unable to cheer him up, while he moped in the corner.  
“Hey, Hod!” A cheerful, familiar voice greeted him as a warm arm was wrapped around his shoulders. “Not joining in the festivities?”  
“What do you want Loki?” Hodur asked warily. He had spoken to the Trickster only a few times, but everyone on Asgard had heard tales of his exploits. The blind god really was not in the mood to go on some wild adventure to Jötunheim, or be tricked into something he would regret.  
“Who says I have to want something?” Loki asked defensively, “I was just wondering what you were doing here, all alone.”  
“I’m _blind_ ,” he snapped. “It’s not like I can throw weapons at my brother.”  
“That’s ridiculous,” Loki scoffed. “Here, just wait a second.” Hodur heard the sound of fingers snapping and a large, wooden bow was pressed into his hands. “I’ll guide your aim, and you can shoot.”  
“Really?” Hodur asked hopefully and a little skeptically.   
“Of course.” Loki grabbed his arm and dragged him through the thick crowd.  
“Why are you doing this?” He may not be able to see, but he wasn’t stupid. Hodur knew better than to trust a trickster.  
“No need to sound so suspicious,” he protested. “Am I not allowed to help out now and then? I’m a friendly guy. Besides, what could I do? It’s not like anything could actually hurt Baldur.”  
Hodur hesitated. But not for very long. Too many times he had been pushed to the side, unable to participate. Not this time. “I guess you’re right,” Hodur said as he allowed himself to be guided to the front of the room.

...

Hodur of course, was completely wrong. The arrow in Gabriel’s other hand was one made of mistletoe, the only thing that could kill Baldur. Any other time, Gabriel would create some random humanoid to shoot it, but not with the Æsir. Their rules of vengeance were very clear. Anyone who murdered a god would be executed. Even if it wasn’t their actual physical form. It didn’t matter who did it, this law was unbendable. But there was a loophole. If Gabriel could get Hodur to do the job of his own free will, the punishment would fall on him instead. The other gods would know that it was Gabriel’s fault and hate him for it, but at least he wouldn’t be dead. Or rather, pretending to be dead. The Æsir were definitely not capable of killing an archangel.   
Gabriel was not a nice person. He brought down the high and mighty, punished the cruel, created chaos and generally kept people on their toes. He never claimed to be kind or merciful. Baldur would be kicked down a few steps and be reminded of his mortality when the person he loved and trusted the most, the person who adored and depended on him more than anyone, killed him permanently. Odin would be punished for hurting Gabriel’s kids, when two of his own died. Everything worked out in an ironic and complete kind of way. Except for one thing. Hodur.   
Gabriel was in no way compassionate, but this made him feel a little guilty. Hodur had never done anything to deserve this. Yes, he was dull, whiny, self-pitying, naive and annoying, but none of it was bad enough to be worthy of the suffering about to befall on the poor guy. Now, if he had been the god in charge of smiting people who killed their kin or something, then it would be quite fitting. But he wasn’t.   
Hodur might be innocent, but Gabriel was not a benevolent god, and the hunger for revenge was one that even an archangel could not overcome or ignore so easily. He would continue as planned.  
He pushed his way to the front of the room where Baldur stood untouched, while knives, axes, swords, hammers, statues and anything else the gods could find were thrown at him. Gabriel let go of Hodur’s arm and handed him the mistletoe arrow. Hodur hesitantly fitted it to the bow and drew back the string. He lifted it up and aimed in the general direction of the commotion.  
“Is my aim correct?” He asked.  
“Aim a little to the left... a little higher... No, like this.” Gabriel grasped Hodur’s arm and moved it into position, before releasing it again. “There we go!”  
“I-I can let go now?” Hodur’s face was shining with excitement.  
“Go ahead,” the short god encouraged.  
Hodur released the arrow, the piece of wood flying straight at its target. Baldur had noticed his brother joining in the game and a smile grew on his face. It disappeared as the arrow struck him, and unlike every other object that had struck, slashed or stabbed him, this one kept going forward. It split open his tattered shirt, and pierced his smooth, blemish free skin. It continued on, diving through his muscles between his ribs, before finally striking his pulsing heart. The shock on Baldur’s face as he realized that his brother had actually succeeded in hurting him was beautiful, Gabriel thought with satisfaction and only a little bit of remorse. He turned towards the other gods as they fell silent, surprise and disbelief rippling through the crowds.  
“Did I do it? Did I hit him?” Hodur asked, his euphoric state and lack of vision rendering him oblivious to what had just happened. He fell silent when no one answered and the tension of the room became tangible. The Æsir all turned towards him. They saw the bow in his hand, and the arrow which had felled Baldur. They saw the Trickster who stood behind his shoulder, a bitter smirk on his face.   
“LOKI!” Odin roared.  
“Hey, I’m not the one who shot the arrow. That would be Hod here.” Gabriel patted Hodur’s shoulder, an aura of fake cheeriness surrounding him. His tone darkened. ”You know what you’re going to have to do.”   
“Wait, what’s going on? What do you mean-?” Hodur’s panicked voice was interrupted when the other gods realized Gabriel’s trick and all of its consequences. They rushed towards Gabriel, most of them screeching and growling in rage, Thor in the lead with Mjöllnir in his hand. The Trickster departed with the snap of his fingers leaving the Æsir to their fury.

...

Gabriel spent the next few days hiding out on Earth. The Æsir couldn’t kill him, but he had no wish to be attacked by a mob of bloodthirsty gods carrying a large assortment of painful weapons. A few days after the murder of Baldur, he decided owed his daughter a visit. He flew himself down to the frigid throne room of Niflheim.

“Father,” Hel, Queen of the Dead, greeted him, not startled at all by his sudden appearance. “What brings you here?”  
“I just thought I should warn you that a bunch of angry Æsir might come down here and demand you bring Baldur back to life.” Gabriel shrugged, a wry smirk slipping onto his face, “That was kinda my fault.”  
Hel rolled her eyes, “Your warning has arrived too late. Odin has already pleaded for Baldur’s life. He is rather displeased with your actions.”  
It was her father’s turn to raise his eyes upwards. Hel had always had a talent of understating things.  
“Really? What did you say?” Gabriel asked. He breathed through his mouth and carefully did not glance down at Hel’s legs. He loved his daughter, truly he did, but to be honest, the bottom half of her was disgusting. Even a few meters away from her, he could smell the stench of rotting flesh.  
“I said that if everybody truly loved him as much as he claimed, I would let him return to Asgard. _Provided_ ,” Hel continued as Gabriel gave her a disbelieving look. “Provided that every single living human and god proves their devotion and sheds tears for Baldur’s death.”  
The Trickster raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “There’s no way in the Nine Realms they’d even try that. I mean, have you seen some of those people? They wouldn’t cry over the death of their mother, much less a god they don’t even believe in.”  
Hel gave her father a look. “What?! You don’t mean they’re actually trying? _How_ can they be so _stupid_?” Vowels in the last sentence were elongated sarcastically, the words jumping up and down in pitch. Gabriel shook off his condescending look. “I guess I’d better show them how impossible that plan is.”  
Hel’s lips curved upwards into a frosty smile. “I suppose you had better,” she agreed. “I do not wish to relinquish any of my souls. But please, do not get yourself killed, father. I would hate to be trapped down here with you for all eternity.”  
“Love you too, sweetie,” Gabriel replied sarcastically, before evaporating into thin air with the snap of his fingers.

...

Frigga had spent the last two days roaming the Earth begging for tears. So far everyone had complied. The Queen of Asgard knew that this would most likely not succeed. It only took one person to refuse to weep, and all would be lost. But, she would do anything to bring back her son. If it took a thousand years of wandering Midgard, telling every single person on the planet stories of her son, the sweetest, most beautiful god in existence, then she would do that. Frigga would cling to this desperate hope for as long as possible.  
Of course, she was not the only one working on this plan. Others were speaking to gods who had known and loved Baldur, asking for their help. As far as Frigga knew, they had all agreed to help. No one had told her either way, but she refused to even contemplate the possibility of failure.  
“Loki!” She gasped, as she almost ran into the god next to a small town on the fjords of what would later be known as Norway. Frigga was glad that of all the gods, it had been her who had met the Trickster first. Anybody else would have destroyed him on sight. (Or at least attempted; Frigga was no fool, she knew that killing the Trickster would be a near impossible task.) The Queen, however, was by nature a very forgiving, logical person. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t want to bash him to death after what he did to her children, but she was also smart enough to know better than to do that. After all Hel’s terms had been every god and human.  
“You realize that this is plan is never going to work, right? There’s no way you could get _everybody_ to cry for some god.” Loki studied her warily, ready to jump out of the way if he had to.  
“I have to try. If there is even the slightest hope...” the goddess trailed off.  
After a moment of tense, awkward silence, Loki risked Frigga’s wrath. “By the way, how’s Hodur?”   
_That murderous swine!_ Frigga thought, _He knows full well what happened_! She reigned in her anger and replied coldly, “Dead. Vali did the deed.”  
“Ooh,” Loki winced. “Killed by his own half-brother. That must’ve hurt.”  
Frigga glared at him. She disliked it when people mentioned Odin’s affairs with other goddesses.  
“Baldur’s wife is also dead. She dove into the flames of his pyre. Nanna could not bear to live without him.”  
Loki looked away. Frigga knew the Trickster. He didn’t harm those who he didn’t think deserved it. He had not intended for Baldur’s death to have such consequences.  
“Please Loki. Do not stand in my way. Look at what his death has done to us all. I beg you, shed just one tear for him! Remember when he was a child? You would create toys for him to play with. He was like a son to you! Do not oppose us! I would do anything for you if you would weep! I could convince Odin to free your children. Your friendship could be mended. Please!”  
“I’m sorry, but it’s too late for that. I’m not going to cry for some brat.” Loki turned away, preparing to leave.  
“You _disgusting_ , heartless cutthroat! I cannot believe that I once called you a friend!” Frigga ran towards him, a dagger clasped in one hand. Loki dodged her blow and turned around to face her.   
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. His face was void of expression but his eyes were mournful. The god vanished, leaving Frigga alone, clutching her dagger, tears falling into the snow.  
She summoned Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, and made her way back to Asgard. The Queen shook her head sadly as she passed Heimdallr, the guardsman. He instantly understood what she could not bear to speak aloud.   
“L-loki. It was him- h-he wouldn’t. Loki refused.”   
The god punched a nearby column which collapsed. “We never should have trusted that despicable trickster!” He snarled.   
Despite her earlier words, Frigga personally disagreed. Excluding the last incident, Loki had helped them more than he harmed. Sure, he had gotten them into a lot of messes, but he had also fixed them, and afterwards Asgard had been stronger and the Æsir, wiser. He had been her husband’s closest comrade. She did not regret trusting the man of Jötun blood. She did not regret letting the outcast stay in Asgard. Frigga only wished tensions between Odin and Loki had never gotten to the point where Loki would kill two of his nephews without shedding a single tear. She did not begrudge Heimdallr his opinion, after all it was Loki who was fated to kill him when Ragnarök came.  
Instead of saying these thoughts, she walked on, mentally preparing herself to tell the other gods of their defeat.

...

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Gabriel’s cry of anguish and fury echoed the one uttered by Odin only a few hours earlier. He created a room around him full of breakable objects and lots of sharp, pointy things. “That rat-faced hypocrite! As if this hasn’t gone far enough!!!”  
He snatched a long sword and plunged it into a straw-filled humanoid. He grabbed a intricately patterned glass jar and smashed it to the ground. Next to fall was a tower of plates, a stack of ceremonial spears, a few helmets, a wooden racing chariot and finally the walls of the room itself.  
The cause of this rage was Odin. After hearing about the permanent loss of his sons, the All-seeing Father had summoned Narfi and Váli. They were Gabriel’s children (this was a different Váli), the only ones he’d had with his Æsir wife, Sigyn. Unlike their half siblings, they looked like completely ordinary humans or Æsir.   
Less than an hour ago, Odin had turned Váli into a ravenous wolf who proceeded to tear his brother to shreds. Now, because of the Æsir laws of vengeance, Váli would soon be dead. This was Odin’s revenge.  
Odin and Gabriel had once been brothers. They had sworn they would remain so for an eternity. Right before Baldur had died, their bond of friendship had been extremely strained, barely holding together, but there was still the possibility of reconciliation. The anger between them was not completely unexpected or unreconcilable; any two brothers would fight from time to time and many eventually forgave each other. But now those bonds had been shattered to bits, thrown into a supernova and what few atoms remained were tossed into another universe, where no one could ever reach. Neither could ever be able to forgive the other for the death of their children.  
Gabriel felt incredibly guilty for bringing this trouble to his kids, and especially Sigyn. Sigyn, who was always so faithful to him, even when he was not. It wasn’t their fault that he went and decided to take revenge on Odin. Because whatever excuses he could give, it had started because of that. Odin had planned a fitting revenge, and if had been aimed towards anybody else, Gabriel would have been proud of him. The Trickster had tricked one brother to kill the other, so Odin had done the same to his family. Four children were now permanently dead. They had gone past the point of no return. Gabriel was no longer welcome with the Æsir. He would never return to Asgard and probably never get the chance to see Sigyn again. Never get the chance to apologize.   
The fury of an archangel is a truly terrifying thing. It has the power to destroy any mortal, god or continent who happened to be in its way. But Gabriel was done with revenge. He knew that if he retaliated, Odin would do the same, and the vicious cycle would continue until nothing was left but two broken men with nothing left to lose. So instead, he gave up his rage for grief.

...

Odin stormed into Niflheim that night. “I want you to-”  
“No.” Hel interrupted, her tone cool and unyielding.  
“Listen here, you-”  
“No.” The goddess repeated. “I will not give you back Baldur. You must accept that he is dead and gone. That is what millions of other people must do. What do you think would happen if I let every single person who was loved return to the upper realms? Chaos. I gave you a chance, and you failed. I will not be more merciful this time.”  
“Listen to me.” Odin did not raise his voice, but the anger in it was unmissable. “Give me back Baldur or I will chain that traitorous piece of guano with the entrails of his sons, Váli and Narfi, underneath Skadi the serpent, where he will spend eternity underneath the drip of its venom. And don’t think you will go unpunished.”  
Hel didn’t blink at the oddly specific threat, but she did hesitate, her icy composure broken for less than half of a second. She considered his words and carefully examined the King of Asgard’s eyes, and found not a threat, but a warning and a promise. “In that case, I suppose I should return him. But just this once. Try that again, and I promise you, you shall regret it until the end of days.”  
Odin nodded. He knew better than to mess with the goddess of the dead a second time.  
“Then tomorrow at dawn, Baldur shall return to the living.”

...

Hel was true to her word. The next day, as the sun came up, the god of light also rose. The Æsir were pleased with this, and within the next couple of decades most of them had all but forgotten the incident. Things returned to normal, and it was as if it had never happened, although Gabriel never was allowed to return to Asgard.   
Baldur, however never forgave him for attempting to kill him (Gabriel would argue that he had actually succeeded in doing so) and for permanently killing his brother. Odin did not forgive the Trickster, nor was he forgiven. The two of them mostly tried to pretend that the other didn’t exist, that they had never been the best of friends, that the thirst for revenge had turned them into hateful rivals. All ties Gabriel had with the Norse gods were irreversibly broken.   
The only good thing to come out of the whole ordeal was a change to Asgardian defenses. After Frigga had found the spell to protect Baldur, the rest of the gods decided that it would be great to be invulnerable. Everyone had the proper spells performed on themselves. None of them forgot the mistletoe this time. Of course, the spell didn’t protect them against everything; there is no creature in the universe that does not have some weaknesses. But for the most part, the Æsir were far less easy to kill. Over the next few years, the witch found herself very busy with a whole pantheon of customers wanting her services. As a whole, the Æsir were generally pleased with the whole thing. Baldur hadn’t died permanently, they were much more protected and they had finally gotten rid of that annoying trickster.  
Said trickster was found visiting his daughter a few days after the return of Baldur.  
“How much of this chain of events did you plan?” Hel asked.  
“Now, that would be telling.” His grin faded. “But I didn’t expect it to end like this. Not with all the death and revenge...” He sighed wearily. “And, well, erm... Thanks. For, you know, not condemning me to an eternity of pain and suffering. I always knew you loved me, somewhere in that frozen heart of yours.” He grinned at her.  
“You are welcome, Father. I would not be so cruel as to stand by while you spent millennium in torment. And it was only one soul.” She returned his smile with a hard, empty stare.  
“Not that they could’ve caught me, much less kept me imprisoned, but the gesture is, uh, appreciated. So, umm, thank you.” Gabriel told the Queen of Niflheim rather awkwardly. He wasn’t the type to offer thanks, but Hel deserved it.  
“I would not underestimate Odin. I am certain that under the right circumstances, your brother could overpower you.” As always, Hel’s voice was cool and full of consideration.  
“He is no longer a brother of mine!” Gabriel snarled.   
“I apologize. Still, I would tread with greater caution.”  
The Trickster rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. See ya, Hel.” He vanished, not wanting to continue the conversation. The echoes of his snap rang through the chilly stone halls.  
Hel smiled. It was a knowing smile, full of ice.


End file.
